


The Case of the Christmas Soldier

by twerkinshield



Category: BBC Sherlock, Nativity! (2009)
Genre: After Sherlock's death, Basically John is a cranky depressed teacher, Eventual reunion between John and Sherlock, Grief/Mourning, In which John is a primary school teacher, Language, M/M, Sherlock/Nativity Crossover, Suicidal Thoughts, Which wasn't really a death at all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 09:15:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/672755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twerkinshield/pseuds/twerkinshield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sherlock's death John decides he needs to completely change his life in order to move on. So he moves to Coventry and starts teaching at one of the local Catholic primary schools, but gets into quite a bit of trouble when he gets himself caught telling a lie that soon blows into a huge production! Literally. John gets himself put in charge of the school's nativity play! With his trusted bulldog Gladstone, a class full of miscreant Catholic children, and a psychotically happy classroom assistant, John tries to make the best of his situation while Mycroft breathes down his neck. John even ends up blogging again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any of the characters in either BBC’s Sherlock or the movie Nativity. I simply adore the characters and want them to find even a little bit of happiness for all the shit I put them through. Ehehehehehe! It's better to watch Nativity before reading this but you don't have to, although it will be quite confusing for you if you haven't seen it.
> 
> WARNING: for some suicidal thoughts, swearing, possible blasphemy for the Catholic church, references to alcoholic tendencies, and the occasional shot of angst. 
> 
> Italics are inner thoughts and/or flashbacks

It’s amazing how much one event can affect the entire course of your life. A day, an hour, a moment, a conversation. Any of these can change your life for better, or for worse. There can be a single event or a series of events leading up to this change. For John Watson however, it was both. Cases and kidnappings and grand theft and ultimately a series of chases all through the city of London perpetrated by a psychopath with a great deal of resources and far too much time and energy on his hands.

John spent each of the first few days of what he would come to call The Final Case in a state of the usual busy contentedness of being able to spend his time with someone he loves doing something that makes them both feel alive. As the days wore on and Moriarty’s various webs around them started to feel more like a net John found himself wondering, just wondering, what it would feel like to actually be caught. But as the Case wore on John was starting to realize just how horribly he had misjudged the gravity of the case, and how deep in it they truly were.

_“Alone is what I have. Alone protects me.”_

_“You... YOU MACHINE!”_

And so the spider’s web turned into a net, and what they thought was a net, was actually a noose. And as usual, Sherlock realized all of this long before John did, and took things into his own hands. Sadly, John only realized this when he came to see Sherlock perched on the edge of the hospital rooftop.

_“No one could be that clever.”_

_“_ You _could.”_

And that was the moment where John could feel the bottom of his stomach drop like a stone.

_“It’s a trick… it’s just a magic trick”_

_“Alright, alright,_ stop it _now!”_

But by the time John realized all of this, it was already far too late.

_“Keep your eyes fixed on me… can you do this for me? This is what people do don’t they? Leave a note?”_

_“Leave a note when??"_

A series of events leading up to a single, life changing moment. For better, or for worse.

_“Goodbye John”_

_“SHERLOCK!!!”_

And all that we can do afterwards, is walk the path that we are on. 


	2. On The First Day of Christmas My True Love Gave to Me: A Classroom Helper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John is assigned the Nativity, nobody listens to him, and the Headmistress gives him a classroom assistant.

Sherlock’s funeral had been quiet. Mycroft had made all the arrangements and paid for everything, and then left John and Mrs. Hudson to their own devices, and from then on they had kept a respectful distance from one another.

Mycroft now regularly paid the rent for a flat that was empty, and Mrs. Hudson kept things exactly as they were before the Final Case. John couldn’t stay in a place so full of memories and so he left to live in a tiny townhouse in the smaller city of Coventry. Mycroft offered his resources and connections and John, for the better part, refused. A few months after the funeral however, John could no longer bear to twiddle his thumbs and do nothing so he applied for a teaching position at one of the local primary schools of St. Bernadette’s. Mycroft put in a quiet word with the headmistress Mrs. Bevans and she agreed to hire John, if only to get a bit of extra funding necessary for the school to continue running.

The first day that John showed up at St. Bernadette’s everyone was surprised, given Mrs. Bevans’ description of him they expected a taller and more imposing individual, rather than the haunted and hollow man that limped his way around the school with the help of an old cane. Regardless, the students and other teachers became accustomed to seeing old Mr. Watson limping his way around the school and just generally being a grump. Thinking to cheer him up the headmistress assigned John the task of creating and directing that year’s Nativity play of “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph”. Needless to say it does not end well for anyone and John refuses to participate in any other shows that are put on by the school. His near constant level of mild irritation and dry sarcasm become a norm for his students and an endless source of amusement for the staff. Time goes by slowly and quietly for John, but as always, it passes.

**_ALMOST 3 YEARS LATER…_**

Sometimes John wishes he could just use his old Browning pistol to shoot Santa Clause. The jolly fat bastard. No matter what anyone says there actually _is_ such a thing as being too bloody happy, no matter what season or holiday it is. John’s thoughts are more than a little melancholy as he slowly makes his way through the carolers crowding outside his favorite coffeeshop and past the too-cheerful Santa collecting for charity outside. With his messenger bag full of school supplies, a coffee in one hand and his cane in the other it certainly makes for quite the obstacle course. Slowly but surely John makes his way to St. Bernadette’s.

Homeroom is a mass of chaos as John arrives and the students are full of energy. “Sit down! Ollie, that’s _you_ in detention for the week. TJ, that’s also _you_ in detention for the week. And also TJ, that’s your _parents_ coming into school to see me tomorrow”. Correction: the kids are all being rambunctious little shits as usual.

Morning assembly is always a production and today’s ruckus is certainly no different. Kids screaming left and right, teachers chatting at the sides, and the headmistress on stage trying to get everyone’s attention.

“Good morning boys and girls!”

“Good morning Mrs. Bevans”, chorus the children.

“We are on the run-up to _Christmas_!”, announces Mrs. Bevans excitedly.

At this exclamation there are many hushed, yet excited, whisperings from the children.

“Isn’t that exciting!? Now last year Mrs. Spink did the Nativity play and if you all remember she got a bit upset.” Many a teacher are raising their eyebrows at this point and John openly cackles from the memory. Mrs. Bevans ignores this and continues to soldier on, “She started shouting a lot, and crying, and some of you I remember were also crying with her so we are going to have to find a new person. And _this_ year, to make the best Nativity play that has ever _ever_ been, is Mr. Watson!”

John makes a startled noise like a dying rhinoceros and promptly chokes on his coffee in response to this declaration. Several teachers throw sympathetic, yet relieved, looks in his direction while Mrs. Ryan simply sighs and pats him on the back to help him breathe again. Mrs. Bevans quickly moves the children into a cheerful rendition of _We Wish You a Merry Christmas_ while John has a quiet existential crisis and tries to understand what he did in a past life to deserve this kind of punishment. _“It either has something to with how many body parts we kept in the fridge or maybe I was sporting some sort of hideous handlebar moustache in my past life. Either way I swear I can bloody hear Sherlock laughing at me from beyond the grave. The wanker._  

The assembly finishes with a high note and as the kids make their way to class Mrs. Bevans makes a quick and hasty exit while trying to avoid all eye contact with John. John of course, having none of her bullshit, proceeds to follow her as quickly as his leg will allow. Just as she’s about to slam the door to her office John wedges his good foot in and refuses to budge it, forcing her to open the door and let him in. John plunks himself into the spare chair and is about to let all hell break loose. Obviously, because this is his life John muses, it all goes to shit in 0.6 seconds flat. A new record for him.

“You have the talent, you have the training, I think it’s a wonderful thing!,” exclaims the headmistress. 

“Mrs. Bevans I barely have the training! I did an elective course in drama in uni many moons ago and I wasn’t very good- “

“Oh yes, I know”

“It- I was-“, John breaks off abruptly, affronted at having his dramatic prowess dismissed so decisively. Mrs. Bevans completely ignores his insulted expression and moves on. John’s emotional delicacy be damned.

“Now let’s move on from this, when are you going to start the casting?”, she asks with an expectant look on her face.

“These children are _literally_ useless! I am _literally_ useless,” John flails his hands making frantic gestures, “PLEASE don’t make me do this!?”

“Think about Oakmoore, and think about how they _always_ steal all the reviews!”, She pleads pathetically.

John’s bad leg twinges as if in sympathy with Mrs. Bevans’ plight. “I thought we agreed 3 years ago that after my DISASTROUS attempt to direct the nativity I wasn’t going to do it again!?”. Another twinge. _“Maybe my leg can predict the future, maybe all these twinges mean bad things, maybe it’s a sign that I should finally go shoot myself in the face”_ John’s mind traitorously supplies.

“Make this a _good_ one! Make this, _fabulous_ , last nativity play for me and then I retire and you won’t have to put up with me anymore!”. This last statement is accompanied by a winning smile as if to try to convince John of her persuasive argument. John, having had more than enough, slowly heaves himself up from the chair and makes his way to the door. His hand reaches the doorknob when Mrs. Bevans continues with a distracted “Oh and you’ve got an, um, a classroom assistant starting sometime today”.

“Thank you ever so much,” Is John’s sarcastic reply, responding with a winning smile of his own. Mrs. Bevans shifts uneasily but decides to shift her attention elsewhere to the stacks of paperwork on her desk.

As John limps away he hears her mutter, “That’ll help with the wear’n’tear and the stress”. _“You bet your sweet fat arse it will”_ John thinks bitterly. His coffee has grown cold by this point and so he dumps it into the bin on his way back to the classroom. _“If my hair goes any more grey because of this fucking nativity there will be hell to pay”_ he grouses.

John turns down the hallway leading to his classroom, and completely misses the hulking man moving in the opposite direction towards to school cafeteria.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

To: holmes.secure236@gov.org

From: bevans.bernadettes@edu.org

 

Mycroft,

Do you really think John is up for the job? I mean at this point I think we’d be much better to hire an instructor or a student from the local college or even a trained monkey and they would probably do a better job with our nativity! I trusted you with hiring him but I’m not entirely sure I can extend the same trust to our Christmas play.

Pam.

 

 

From: holmes.secure236@gov.org

To: bevans.bernadettes@edu.org

 

Pam,

Trust me. John is quite capable of handling himself in a wide variety of situations. I mean he _did_ survive living with my little brother for a number of years. Besides, I think he needs a distraction from life right now. His therapist tells me his limp is getting worse and he has nightmares with depressing regularity. I can vouch for his abilities. I hope all goes well with the production.

Mycroft.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

Blog Entry: I HATE EVERYTHING BUT ESPECIALLY CHRISTMAS.

So here I am once again. I know I posted a very brief summary of my last attempt at writing and directing a nativity play nearly 3 years ago so some of you may understand the title of this entry a bit better than others. Let me catch you newcomers up to speed on the matter. The higher powers that be have decided that, for whatever godforsaken reason, I am somehow the school’s savior for the annual nativity play. Why they seem to think this is totally beyond my comprehension, but then that’s their own fault for thinking that someone like me is capable of creating some heartfelt season tearjerker meant to capture the hearts of families. I mean I barely have enough spirit to push myself through each day without wanting to kill myself or someone else. At the very least this could provide some laughs on here. I hope you are all having as “great” a Christmas season as I am.

\-- John Watson


	3. On The Second Day of Christmas My True Love Gave to Me: Two Scraggly Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John meets his assistant Mr. Desmond Poppy, eats a Sausage Sizzler, and consults Gladstone for musical integrity. He also tells a little white lie.

At the same time John returns to his classroom to sulk and eat his lunch in angry solitude, one Mr. Poppy is quietly and unobtrusively making his way through the school. As a recent graduate from the local teachers’ college, Desmond Poppy is a simple sort of fellow. He likes sunny days and rainy days in equal measure, he likes to make people smile, and he likes to have fun and play games. Mr. Poppy loves to learn, but most of all he loves to make people happy. It may not be the easiest goal in life but he believes that it’s a good one. Everyone deserves to be happy and if he can help then he’ll give it one hundred and ten percent. Even if he can’t make everyone happy he can damn well try to at least coax a smile or a laugh from people.

Mr. Poppy decides to go to the cafeteria to eat with the students rather than the tired and boring teachers in the staff lounge. The children stare, albeit in a curious way, when he enters the room. Understandable considering his unusual appearance and the fact that he stands at over six feet tall and therefore towers over everyone. Rather than dress like his stuffy professors Mr. Poppy decided to forgo the traditional sweater vests and slacks in favor of a nice pair of jeans, a warm navy blue flannel shirt, with a heavy winter jacket draped over his shoulders. As if to contrast his imposing stature in this outfit, his dark brown hair is short, and yet it sticks up as if he’s just stuck his finger into a light socket and come out looking like a startled hedgehog. His beard is scruffy but trimmed so he doesn’t look too scary. The overall effect his attire gives him is the look of a giant huggable teddy bear.

He sits at one of the vacant tables and pulls out his lunch box. A young boy with sandy blond hair and freckles across the row throws him a wide, toothy grin around a mouthful of sandwich. Mr. Poppy gives him a small wave and a bright smile in return before tucking into his own lunch. _Today will be a good day_ thinks Mr. Poppy contentedly.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

 _Today is turning out to be one of the shittiest days in the history of shitty days_ John fumes quietly, in the dark recesses of his mind. _These little buggers aren’t even trying! I mean the whole biblical idea of Christmas can’t be THAT hard for students from a bloody catholic school can it!?_

Apparently it is.

“Alright then tell us _clearly_ and _concisely_ what happened at Christmas! If you think you’re so clever,” John snaps to Ollie, who is standing at the front of the class beside him. John crosses his arms defensively and waits for the inevitable fallout from the tiny chav.

“Uhhh well Joseph got together with Mary and Mary went to Bethlehem to have a baby, aaaaand she has her baby called Jesus. And a couple of years later, about… 30 years later he uh, dies on the cross and then- _“_

John glances wistfully out the window at the iron grey skies threatening to storm, and wishes wholeheartedly that they would open up and swallow him whole from this living hell.

“Go and sit down,” John says stiffly, amidst the many giggles and chuckles of the class. “Go and sit down please. That was almost blasphemy, what you’ve just done.” More laughter. The little shits. Happy fucking Christmas to them all.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

The other teachers are apparently no better, even if they’re supposedly professionals and are drinking coffee in the staff lounge, because John swears all they do in there is plot how to make his days an absolute hell. There are probably weekly meetings and sparkly badges and maybe even a Facebook group dedicated to his constant social agony. He just hasn’t found any proof yet. And staunchly refuses to ask if Mycroft has installed cameras in the school or if any of the teachers are on his payroll. Seeing as how both of those actions are well within Mycroft’s usual repertoire of spy business John has his many well-founded suspicions.

“Here’s to a five star review of the St. Bernadette’s nativity directed by Mr. Watson,” sing-songs Mrs. Ryan, who then raises her mug of coffee. “Cheers!”

The rest of the teachers toast alongside her with a gleeful “Cheers!” and then proceed to clink all their mugs together in a motley toast. It’s gotten to the point where John can no longer tell if they’re legitimately happy, or if they’re just fucking with him. He suspects at this point those two things are mutually exclusive. John swigs the rest of his coffee and then rubs his temples vigorously while the ladies continue to laugh at his misfortune.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

And of course because John’s life has been reduced to a sham of a lie, after he finishes limping his way back to his classroom after the break, he arrives to a loud and wild chorus of songs from the children and an unidentifiable male voice. Curious, and more than a little pissed off, John opens the door to investigate and finds a large bearded man dressed in plaid kneeling on the floor in the middle of his students singing;

“Wheeeeeeeeen Suzy was a child,

a chiiiiiiild Suzy was!

She said Miss! Miss! I can’t get this!

I got my knickers in a right old twist!

Wheeeeen Suzy was-“

John interrupts with a hand on the shoulder and a firm “Sorry… but who the hell are you?”

“Oh! I’m Mr. Poppy!,” is the bearded man’s cheerful reply.

 _Well that’s bloody helpful_ John thinks. What he says is, “Yeaaaah that’s nice. And what are you doing here Mr. Poppy?”

“Oh! I’m your new teaching assistant Mr. Watson sir!,” exclaims Mr. Poppy with a bright smile. John just stares at the classroom intruder as if this course of action will provide a more in-depth explanation of his presence. John laments his life, and the many curve balls it decides to throw him. He also swears a bit (a lot) in his head and resolves to scream into his pillow later that night and maybe drink himself to sleep.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

After the kids get settled into their seats John sets them to writing down some of their own ideas for the nativity play. He quietly supervises them while hobbling slowly amongst the desks and occasionally offers some bit of help to the children.

“Remember, please try to keep it neat. Dan, are you having a bit of trouble there? How’re you doing Fraser?”

Mr. Poppy, sitting quietly at the front of the room on one of the extra teacher stools, tentatively raises a hand towards John.

John grins at the proper authority that _someone_ has the decency to show him and smugly thinks _Well it looks like he’s better behaved than the usual spawn of Satan that inhabit this classroom_. Still grinning slightly John quietly says “You know you don’t have to raise your hand to talk to me right?”

“Yes Mr. Watson, I- well it’s just- I thought we were supposed to be doing a play?”, whispers Mr. Poppy. The perplexed expression on his face, combined with his scruffy beard and hair, give the impression of a confused puppy looking for answers. “It just feels like everyone is just sitting around- “

“Yes, yes we are going to be doing a play. But this is the rehearsal for the play. This is still a creative writing class and- “

But Mr. Poppy swiftly cuts John off with “Boring!”, and addresses the class with a simple, “Who wants to do a play?”

Naturally, the children burst into action by raising their hands and screaming “ME!” all at once.

 _I fucking_ knew _there was going to be a downside to having this man in my bloody classroom_ John despairs, while trying to maintain order. “ _No_ , no, everyone please sit back down-“

Again, Mr. Poppy interrupts cheerfully. “Okay! Could everyone just move their tables to the side? That way we’ll have more room to practice!”

The kids start moving the tables to the side and John has a moment of panic and resorts to threats. Again. This seems to be the only course of action that in any way works for him with these hellions.

“ _No_ keep the tables where you are! Alfie! TJ! Put the tables back! The next person to move their table will be in detention for the entire term!” John doesn’t get to finish his militant rant because he is interrupted once again. This time he is interrupted by the loud screeching of the bell that signals recess. His requests for an orderly exit are soundly ignored in favour of Mr. Poppy loudly ushering the kids out into the hallway to find their coats and boots. Once the children are all bundled up Mr. Poppy herds them all out the doors into the playground to burn off energy.

John stands by the window to watch the students play and is suddenly hit with a crippling sadness when he realizes who it is that Mr. Poppy reminds him of. John replays Mr. Poppy’s words in his head over and over again, _“Boring”_ , and can only picture a yellow smiley face on a wall riddled with bullet holes. John’s mind goes completely silent, and everything around him is muted as he realizes that this man’s ineptitude in the classroom may be the least of his worries. He watches Mr. Poppy run and catch and yell with all the children and his leg gives a violent twinge that forces John to sit down quickly to avoid falling. Mr. Poppy returns to the class to find John sitting quietly on the table closest to the window, with his cane on the floor, and his hands scrunched into fists covering his eyes.

Mr. Poppy remembers the brief yet warm smile that Mr. Watson had given him earlier, and wonders how someone can be so sad and unhappy inside while smiling like that. He thinks about what a stark contrast sad Mr. Watson is to the energetic Mr. Watson he saw from before. Compliments never hurt anyone, and even if they’re a bit exaggerated people tend to like receiving them. Would it cheer Mr. Watson up to get a compliment about his class? _No harm in trying then!_ thinks Mr. Poppy. He calmly approaches John at the window and, making airplane noise while he does, sits himself down on one of the neighboring desks.

“Can I just say that I’ve _really_ enjoyed today, thank you _so_ very much”, Mr. Poppy says quietly.

John is momentarily taken aback, not expecting this turn in the conversation at all, and is pulled back to the present by a small spark of warmth in his chest. The open sincerity Mr. Poppy shows is more than enough to soothe John’s ruffled feathers. John shakes himself off and gathers his wits about him to build up his wall and asks, “You’re welcome… you haven’t done this before have you”. It’s not so much a question but a statement.

As if sensing John’s attempt to rally himself Mr. Poppy quietly congratulates himself on a job well done. And then promptly realizes what John just said.

“Uhhhh I’ve done stuff _like_ it”, he answers evasively.

“Classroom assistant?” John clarifies.

“Mmm nope.”

“Ok right, I just wanted to check that, thank you.” John tentatively presses on, “So I’ll see you tomorrow? At 8:15?”

“Yes absolutely! Oh! Do you want to come for a sausage sizzler?”

John’s original question of _What the ever loving fuck is that?_ is squashed in favour of a more polite “I’m sorry, what is that?”

“At Young Street by Druids they do these, like, sausages with tomato and ketchup and they roll the sausage in it. They’re only one pound fifty. Do you wanna maybe share one, and, I dunno hang out at the park? I could introduce you to Tom! Stinky Tom! He’s really funny!” This statement is concluded with a wide grin, as if this will somehow convince John to come eat sausages and talk to random smelly people in the park with him.

Not wanting to let him down John avoids direct eye contact and says, “Yeaaaah I’m a bit busy, I shan’t be doing that tonight. Thank you.”

“Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow then Mr. Watson!” and then Mr. Poppy makes his way out of the class while making airplane noises.

Regardless, John does end up hobbling down to Young Street to buy a sausage sizzler on his way home. He will deny to his dying day that it was one of the most delicious things he’d ever tasted.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

John arrives home later to the townhouse he shares with his only roommate, Gladstone. When he had first moved to Coventry, one of his neighbors had put a sign on their front fence advertising the arrival of a new litter of puppies. John, not wanting or particularly needing human company, went over to inquire. Gladstone is a white, medium sized bulldog with large black spots intertwined on his fur. He is loyal, smart, and calm and John rather appreciates his non-judgmental attitude. It doesn’t hurt that Gladstone is not a fan of Mycroft and growls at him on the rare occasions he pops by to visit John. Gladstone also has a knack for being able to detect when Mycroft is telling a lie and voices his disproval for dishonesty by chewing on Mycroft’s expensive Italian shoes. As can be expected, Mycroft keeps his trusted umbrella close at hand whenever he comes by and always brings an extra pair of shoes in his briefcase.

For all that Gladstone is not the most eloquent or beautiful dog, he is rather adept at carrying a tune. John therefore consults him about the nativity’s musical numbers and greatly values his opinion on the matter.

“Gladstone? Come here! Where are you- OH hello old boy!” Gladstone, always glad to see John return, shows his appreciation by jumping onto his lap on the couch. “OOF right on me kippers there you bastard”. John winces and rubs his abused crotch. “All right, all RIGHT get down you tosser”, and promptly pushes Gladstone off the couch after briefly snuggling him. John distractedly hums a few notes and then sits up again.

“Gladstone.”

John gets an inquisitive head tilt in response.

“What do you think? High or low?” John then hums the tune for a song in both high and low pitches. “I think low… Bark for high”.

A loud woof.

“Bark for low”

Silence.

“… Suit yourself then.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning sees John carefully placing nativity scripts onto each student’s desk during recess. He’s startled by a large bang from the window. John looks up only to see Mr. Poppy making a faux-terrified expression while grasping at the window with a dramatic “MR. WATSOOOOOON PLEASE HELP ME!”. John smiles serenely while the children all tackle Mr. Poppy to the ground

A few minutes later John is in the office of the headmistress expressing his disproval of the situation.

“This man is an idiot. He is an _actual_ village idiot. If this was a village, he would be the idiot. He’s not a classroom assistant, he’s an absolute calamitous fool!”

Mrs. Bevans points her pen at John and says, “But he’s gonna be a big help with the play!”

“OH! The play that I don’t care about, the play that brings the children away from learning to read and write and count. _Great! Big whoopee!_ I’ve got a big oaf helping my children to fail! Thanks a lot”. John can acknowledge that he’s a bit worked up. And by a “bit” he means he’s about three seconds away from throwing a desk through a window.

“This is getting a _bit_ personal…”

“ _Who’s that_?” John asks, pointing at a small, framed picture on Mrs. Bevans’ desk.

“… who’s what?”, Mrs. Bevans says evasively.

“ _That_ there!”, John points to the photo again.

“That’s…a, um… a photograph of me and Mr. Poppy.”

“ _Why_.”

“He is my sister’s… son”

“Mhmm.” John hums dismissively and marches out of the office in double time with his cane clacking against the linoleum floor.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

That afternoon John decides he needs some peace and quiet in his life so he sets the children to a Christmas craft of making angels out of toilet paper rolls, pipe cleaners, and tissue paper. The kids are sitting in groups of four or five to a table and are working happily on their individual projects.

Mr. Poppy is seated at the back of the room amongst a large group of children while helping them use the hot glue gun safely.  Curious, he decides to investigate and do some digging as to why Mr. Watson is so sullen all the time.

Mr. Poppy turns to Olivia and very quietly asks, “Do you know why Mr. Watson is such a grumpy gallump?" 

Olivia silently looks over her shoulder to see if Mr. Watson is looking their way. Satisfied that she’s safe from his wrath she turns back to Mr. Poppy and murmurs quietly, “Well, his partner went away a few years ago. It was all big in the newspapers for a bit. Loads of people were saying that his partner was a bad man and a fraud and mean stuff like that. Mr. Watson only came to St. Bernadette’s after that”.

“Do you mean like a detective partner? That kind of partner?”

Olivia shakes her head, “Yeah, but also like a boyfriend I think. All we know is that Mr. Watson loved Sherlock very much and that he’s been really very lost since he left”. They both then turn around to observe John. Olivia sighs and then turns back to her craft with a subdued expression.

Mr. Poppy scrunches his face up in confusion, “Did Sherlock leave to go solve cases somewhere else then?" 

Olivia is quiet for a moment and then turns to look at him seriously. “No sir. I mean Sherlock died. It’s hard to follow after someone who’s dead”. Satisfied that she’s given a clear answer, Olivia makes her way to Mr. Watson with her completed angel to show him her work.

 _Blimey… that sure puts a damper on things._ Mr. Poppy only lets himself wallow for a moment before he resolves to try harder to make Mr. Watson happy.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

After school is out for the day John decides to take advantage of Mr. Poppy’s size and strength in order to wrangle the two large Christmas trees into the school van at the tree nursery. Really he should know by now that luck is not on his side and that karma is an underhanded scum-sucking whore that is out to get him. Always.

“Dibs on driving the van!”, cries Mr. Poppy.

“No, I’ll drive the van because I’ve got the keys-“, John blinks and the keys have suddenly vanished from his hand.

“Nonsense!” exclaims Mr. Poppy, “Nothing overrules the rules of dibs!”

“Mr. Poppy, I will be driving the van as I am the one insured to drive it.”

However, Mr. Poppy simply cackles and plants himself firmly in the drivers’ seat. John, however non-religious he is, says a quiet prayer as he’s buckling himself in so that he doesn’t die by the hand of a crazy person by being smushed in a van.

Continuing with John’s excellent luck Mr. Poppy proceeds to spend the entire ride to the tree nursery sharing all his ideas for the nativity.

“What about Gabriel? What if he comes in on a death slide!?”

“What on earth is a death slide!?”, John asks.

“You know!? One of those things that shoooomPH and then WHAM!”, Mr. Poppy looks at John expectantly, as if his non-verbal explanation is more than enough proof needed to see his brilliant idea. John however is nonplussed at the idea of anything that has “death” in the title of it.

“Yeah I don’t really think the health and safety of the children is going to involve a death slide in a nativity play.”

Mr. Poppy continues on, undiminished by John’s skepticism, “Okay! Alright, what about no donkey? We could have a BMX with trick pegs!”

“This is a Roman Catholic school! We’re not going to replace a donkey with a trick peg BMX, I don’t even know what that is!”, John finishes.

“We can do it. We can do it if we just work together!” Mr. Poppy remains unperturbed.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

Mr. Poppy runs amongst the nursery’s Christmas trees with all the enthusiasm of a small child in a candy store. He shows John big trees and short trees, scrawny trees and bushy trees, and some that look more like sticks with a few pine needles glued on. He thinks they’re all beautiful. John thinks he’s a more than a bit touched in the head.

As Mr. Poppy runs off once more John is briefly brought back to when he used to take Sherlock to St. Bart’s to see what body pieces Molly would let them take. He remembers the expression of absolute glee on Sherlock’s face as he ran between the cadavers. It was fairly disconcerting when Sherlock would point out the bits he wanted to have, but it was entirely worth it when he would squirm like a puppy from the ensuing happiness. John is man enough to admit that Sherlock’s epic pouts when denied a desired body part were also pretty fucking adorable. Sherlock’s scrunched up face and sad blue eyes, when combined with his trademark curly black hair, made him look like a young child again.

John is brought out of his melancholy by Mr. Poppy trying to explain the advantages of having a ten foot tree in the classroom and a fifteen foot tree in the gymnasium. He’s just listing off various ways they can get the angel on the top of the fifteen footer when John hears a familiar cackle and “I don’t _believe_ it! John Watson!”.

 _Oh dear sweet baby Jesus_ thinks John despairingly, once he recognizes the owner of the voice.

“Gordon Shakespeare!” exclaims John with all the enthusiasm of someone at the dentist to have teeth pulled out.

“How’re you doing my man!?” Gordon asks exuberantly as he pulls John into an awkward hug while simultaneously trying to not knock over John’s cane. As is common in his life nowadays, John laments his luck and briefly contemplates if he can push one of the Christmas trees over onto Gordon’s head while making it look like an accident. If only for a convenient getaway. “It’s _great_ to see you!”. John’s memory serves him well by helpfully supplying a younger visual of Gordon in his mind. He takes a great deal of pleasure in noting Gordon’s thinning hair and pale droopy skin. _He even has the same weasel eyes that he did back then_ , remarks John.

John looks behind Gordon’s shoulder to see Mr. Poppy busy chatting to an elderly couple about what tree they’re getting. He seems to be completely engaged in the conversation and doesn’t seem to have noticed John’s plight. This is John’s first mistake. Although he doesn’t yet know it.

“Where’ve you been? What’ve you been doing? I haven’t seen you since back in uni have I? _God_ it’s been a long time. I thought you were busy being some fancy army doctor in faraway lands?”, Gordon looks at John expectantly, evidently hoping for some grand story. John tries not to disappoint.

“Yeah yeah, it’s been… what, six years since we last saw each other? Blimey, yeah after I got shot while in Afghanistan I ended up in good ol’ London. Ended up as a family doctor for a bit while sharing a place with my psychotic detective flatmate” John takes a moment to be proud of how his voice doesn’t falter at the mention of Sherlock.

“Wow! And we all thought you’d end up as some head doctor there” Gordon looks at John as if sizing him up. “But I guess, well, things must’ve gone south and now you’re here. Teaching at that god awful school no less!”. A smirk. A knowing chuckle. The bastard.

John grinds his teeth and stares Gordon down. He can feel the red-hot anger bubbling away in his stomach and eating away at his insides. John can feel his face set in anger, feels his jaw clench and the lines around his eyes harden at Gordon’s deliberately provocative words.

Gordon continues on, heedless of the dangerous territory he’s just entered. “And now you’re just down the road! How is it down at St. Bernie’s? _Goodness_ me what a challenge… _slowly_ , that _dreadful_ school is _dragging_ itself up from the mud”. John’s hand clenches around the handle of his cane. He briefly contemplates the pros and cons of bashing Gordon around the head. “How’s Jennifer by the way?”, Gordon inquires, asking about the girlfriend John had back in university.

John quickly recovers, “Good! Yeah I’m still quite good friends with her.” A blatant lie. He hasn’t thought of her once since they broke up.

“So, you still keep in touch with her?”, a skeptical look.

“Oh yeah, yeah! Even though she’s over in Hollywood now.”

“Goodness me I know, didn’t she do well!?”

“God yes! Did you know she’s a producer now?”, pride enters John’s voice, fondly recalling long nights spent running lines and going over scripts with Jennifer.

“No! Well if you think _I’m_ talented, well, she’s just gone to a whole other level!”, Gordon rallies himself, once again placing himself on the high ground. “She’s just _way_ above me, and _clearly_ above you”.

Unbeknownst to both men, Mr. Poppy has finished his conversation with the elderly couple and is now cheerfully perusing the selection of Christmas tree ornaments directly behind the trees next to them. Neither men have noticed him listening in. John has not been keeping tabs on Mr. Poppy for quite some time now. This is John’s second mistake.

“Clearly”, John replies curtly.

“You know, if you want to see how the other half lives just to see how it really happens in the _right_ way, just come along to our Christmas bazaar. We’re doing showcases. The talent they’ve got is amazing! It’s worth a little look, here take it!” At this, Gordon thrusts a small decorated pamphlet into John’s open hand. John glances down at it and considers going, if only to do a little recon work to see if there are any tips he can pick up.

“Well what a coincidence!” John is never one to be outdone, “I’m in charge of our nativity play this year!”. John looks directly into Gordon’s beady little eyes and deliberately stares him down. It used to work with Sherlock if he was being evasive. John doesn’t see why it shouldn’t be as effective on Gordon.

Gordon is obviously taken aback by this statement but tries not to show it. “Well- I- Perhaps I could come and see yours?” 

“Yes well… you won’t be alone if you do…” John has a moment of internal panic because really, what can his students _possibly_ have to offer that Gordon’s private school doesn’t? Not knowing what to do he continues on valiantly. “Because actually um… Jennifer is coming!”. John congratulates himself on his momentary stroke of genius.

“Oh! She’ll be coming to St. Bernadette’s then?”, clarifies Gordon, looking shocked.

“Yeah she’ll be coming to see the nativity play”

“Why on _earth_ would she want to do that?” Gordon spits out.

“Because…” John can feel his control of the conversation slipping away. So, naturally, he panics and tries to cover it. “She’s bringing most of her agency over with her”. _Nailed it_ John crows triumphantly in the privacy of his mind.

It is at this exact moment that one Mr. Poppy, who is still located behind the row of Christmas trees, hears this part of the exchange and promptly chokes on nothing. The only part of the conversation that his mind has processed is _Hollywood are coming!?_. This is John’s third and final mistake. 

Gordon is completely nonplussed at having been outclassed. He is not shy about letting John know this.

“ _Hollywood_ … are coming to St. Bernadette’s?”, Gordon asks skeptically.

“Yes” At this point John knows he’s already too deep into his story so he decides to throw caution to the wind, and to milk the situation for all it’s worth.

“To see your show?”

“Yes”

“To film your show?”

“Yeah”

“To make a _film_ out of it?”

“Of course”

“……..”

“And a book”

John decides he’s had enough of Gordon for one day so he turns on his heel and starts to make his way to the cash register to pay for the trees. “Well good luck with your nativity play there Gordon!” John says as he pulls out the school’s credit card.

“Don’t get too stressed out this season!” John calls as they’re walking away, “Your hair is thin enough as it is old boy!” He grins like a Cheshire cat and then turns away chuckling. Mr. Poppy skips after him dragging one of the trees to be stuffed into the back of the van. Gordon runs a hand through his thinning hair and stomps away scowling.

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Blog Entry: Of Christmas Trees and Other Annoying Things

I may have misjudged my situation by believing that the nativity project has already hit rock bottom. I was wrong. This phenomenon seems to be a regular occurrence in my life now. One of these days I will be able to understand what motivates people to do certain things, but today is not that day. And frankly I don’t see that day approaching anytime soon. As luck would have it the classroom assistant that I was assigned to help with the nativity got there by sheer, unadulterated nepotism. And he is an actual village idiot to boot. Well at least he’ll fit in with all the children considering that NONE of them actually know what happened at the birth of baby Jesus. We had to go shopping for Christmas trees and I had to place my very life in the hands of the aforementioned nepotistic village idiot, because he was the one driving us there. I swear my life flashed before my eyes! There was a lot of swearing, random body parts, and plenty of patented Sherlock moments. The cherry on the cake was meeting an old chum from university at the tree nursery. He’s this wildly self-important bugger with a superiority complex the size of Mycroft’s arse. Anyways, the smarmy bastard spent half the time we were chatting just talking about how talented his students are and how many local awards they’ll win. I may have told a little white lie just to shut him up but trust me when I say it was well worth it, judging by the absolutely gobsmacked expression on his face… always good for a laugh. Hopefully things start to go uphill from here… if not, at least you will all be entertained by my misery. 

Cheers,

\--John Watson


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